


The Very Unwelcome Customer

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Gen, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: A very unpleasant man is making assumptions about Crowley,  then Aziraphale... then both if them.Will someone step in to save the day ?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 47
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Today's prompt is "You're already perfect"  
> In this story, we learn that Crowley is ashamed of his eyes, even if he is working on it since Armageddon (he let Adam, Anathema and of course Aziraphale see them more and more often).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February ficlet #3 "You're already perfect"
> 
> Crowley was enjoying a nice little nap when a particulartly unpleasant customer started making assumptions about him.

“Sir, this is a public place.”

The voice was masculine and shocked. Stern and condemning.

Crowley opened lazy eyes, wondering what was happening. At the offended tone, he was hoping for a flasher, even if the chances were slim in the bookshop. Their usual biome was usually parks, but a man (demon) could hope (demons shouldn’t be able to hope, but Crowley never cared about the rules). That would be really funny to watch. Flashers always had Aziraphale shake his head, sigh in annoyance and look so utterly _bored_ that the poor guy ended up crying like a child every single time and never came back.

Which was a good thing, because Crowley didn’t want any flashers in St James Park. Innocents ducklings were not supposed to see that kind of things.

He looked around, yawning and stretching. He’d selected a chair near the window, to take advantage of the first rays of sun, and had a good vision of the shop.

The condemning customer was… looking at him.

He turned. Nobody behind him. That was weird. Was the guy offended by the mere vision of him ? It was of course pleasing to know he was still considered an offence, but he usually had to work a little to earn that praise. He rarely was rewarded while sleeping*.

“Public place ?” he asked while yawning a second time, just to annoy the guy a little more (it worked).

“You can not do that in here !” snapped the human.

Crowley was very proud to know he was apparently doing something forbidden. Still, he wanted to know what the something in question _was,_ if only to recreate it willingly in the future.

“Do what ?”

The man curled his lips in contempt.

“This is a respectable place. If you intend to stalk a defenceless woman, be warned that I will thwart you !

Oh. All right, _that_ was what it was about. Indeed, a group of young women was chatting a little way away, right in front of Crowley’s seat. With his glasses hiding the fact that he was sleeping, he _could_ have passed for a creepy pervert.

Well that wouldn’t do. He was of course a demon, but he did have standards.

Mr Morley was a respectable man. He prided himself of being one of the last _real_ concerned citizen of England. They were few, but they were unwavering, and men like them were the ones that made a difference.

He glared at the red haired figure whose limbs were sprawled haphazardly on the chair. _Th_ _is_ was the real menace. The young generation was rotten. He was certain none of the four university girl currently browsing one of the shelves knew how to cook or take care of a household. Thank God, people like himself were here to step up in front of that kind of depravation.

“How can I help you ?” asked a soft voice behind him, and Mr Morley certainly didn’t start before turning to meet honest, kind eyes.

“Sir, are you the owner of this shop ? I am sorry to have to tell you that this young man here is up to no good ! He has been sitting here for more than half an hour !”

The fair man looked questioningly at the depraved ginger, who shrugged. No education, thought Mr Morley, certain that the bookshop keeper would certainly see his point _now_. But the owner (was it Mr Fall ? Fell ? Yes, Fell ! That was the name on the establishment) didn’t seem very upset by the deplorable manners.

“My chairs are very comfortable.” he answered slowly, like this was enough of a reason to sit half an hour in a bookshop without even something to read.

“But look at him !” pointed Mr Morley in outrage.

Mr Fell looked. Scratched his head. Then looked back at Mr Morley in confusion.

“Yes ?”

Mr Morley huffed. That man seemed nice and educated enough, but was obviously a little slow.

“He is trying to tempt these young people into sin ! Look at…” he waved up and down “at how disgusting he is ! All in black with those tight clothes, and hiding his eyes behind those glasses like some kind of filthy rock star !”

Mr Fell smiled serenely. “My dear Sir, I can assure you he is not tempting anyone today.”

Mr Morley, by his own appreciation, was a very smart man. One of the brightest in the whole Commonwealth, even. But the implication of Mr Fell’s words escaped him for some obscure reason, and he didn’t realise that the ginger menace was familiar to the bookshop’s keeper.

“He is a threat to public security, ogling these young women like that ! Undressing them with his stare ! Even if their skirts are indeed indecently short, it is still our duty to protect them. You should throw out that kind of malicious people !”

Mr Fell looked at him with half lidded eyes.

“I am beginning to think I shall, actually.” he murmured with some steel in his tone.

Finally, thought Mr Morley, the fair man was seeing some sense.

“How’m I suppose to undress people with my _eyes_ ?” asked the red haired man with a delighted smile.

“I’ve seen how you _looked_ at them” assured Mr Morley, so full of self-righteousness he didn’t catch the confuse stare of the owner of the shop.

“Did you take your glasses off ?” chided the white-haired man, frowning slightly at the lanky figure still lounging on the chair.

“Yes, right, I took them off, then started _ogling_ the ladies,” answered the ginger with no small amount of sarcasm.

“Right, sorry I asked.”

The bell chimed as the uni girls headed out, chatting merrily, and the stout shopkeeper smiled as he watched them walk away without having bought anything.

“Bless the dears girls” he murmured fondly.

Mr Morley wondered how that poor man was making a living. In the half hour he had spend here, observing the dangerous dark figure on the chair, not a single book had been sold.

“You have to do something about this situation, Mr Fell !” he snapped.

“Well that’s obvious,” interjected the offending party. “Threats to public security must be treated very seriously.” he was grinning like it was his birthday and Christmas at the same time.

“Would you be so kind as to not worsen the situation, Crowley ?” murmured Mr Fell distractedly, tilting his head and walking nearer the window to look at one of the young lady, eyeing her attentively from head to toes.

“Oh, angel, come ooooon ! I haven’t been called a threat in three years ! Warms my heart, honest.”

Mr Fell looked back at the man named Crowley and shook his head. “Oh, you...” he sighed fondly,

Mr Morley gasped, connecting the dots. The bookseller was no better. That look he’d just gave the departing girls was proof of his depravation.

“You two know each other ! You are… in cahoots ! I knew it ! You are working together to turn young and frail women from the right path !”

“Whot ?” asked the Crowley guy, flabbergasted.

“Frail women ?” asked the shop’s owner with distaste.

“I will write to the Bodleian Libraries ! You, Mr Fell, will be shamed everywhere you dare show your face !”

“Oy, listen to me, you little shit !” yelled the man named Crowley, jumping on his feet and snatching his glasses off.

Mr Morley looked at him and pursued his lips in disdain.

“Of course. I imagine this lenses are supposed to attract young, influencable girls with a fascination for morbid and gore. You disgust me, the two of you. I will be back ! I will make sure no one enters that shop ever again ! Mark my words !”

Both supernatural entities watched as the human got out, back ramrod straight in his smugness.

“Well, that’s good news…” started Crowley, putting his glasses back on with a slightly trembling hand.

Aziraphale snatched them with a deadly glare.

“Don’t you dare cover them ! Don’t let bad people get under your skin ! Your eyes are lovely, Crowley. I always thought that.”

The demon shuffled his feet and looked down, and his friend sighed before giving him the glasses back, ashamed.

“Sorry about that... I know you feel more comfortable with them.”

An awkward moment passed as Crowley, glasses firmly back on his face, and Aziraphale, fussing desperately with his jacket’s pockets, looked everywhere but at each other. The demon broke the silence first, unable to stand the vision of a fretting angel for very long.

“I’m alright, angel. Honest.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Good. That is… good. I think I will close the shop. Call it a day. I almost sold something this morning, after all.”

“Yeah” approved the demon as seriously as he could. “That’s more than enough business for a day.”

The angel walked to the door, locked it and sighed with satisfaction.

“Now, I think some light reading and perhaps a cocoa would be just what we need.”

“Do I really have to read, or was it figurative speech ?” drawled the demon. “You know I’ll never be into light reading, right ? Don’t want to come too close to perfection.” he joked.

Aziraphale beamed at him. “I am afraid it is a little too late, my dear. You are already perfect, in my opinion.”

If Crowley spent the next two days in his serpent form, it was entirely the angel’s fault.

A demon could only stand so much praises, after all.

*A blatant lie. He’d often been rewarded while sleeping, usually for something he'd never heard of before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to tell you : If you wondered why Aziraphale looked that young woman up and down as she walked away, it was because he was looking at her outfit, a red and black gothic dress . He thought it would fit lovely to Crowley.
> 
> This story needed to be longer. I have some other ideas that would be perfect for a second chapter, so tomorrow's prompt will be chapter two ^^  
> Mr Morley will come back and discover something awfull about Mr Fell !!
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt will be "And that's why we can't have nice things". It will be fun^^


	2. Mr Fell is an angel !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is scared. The narrow-minded Mr Morley is reminding him of one of his worst memories (this century, at least).  
> Crowley is not helping. Like, at all. ^^
> 
> Trigger warning : Mr Morley will have a homophobic speech, but not really, since no one let him finish a sentence (I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote my chapter. I was very proud, and about to post, when I realised I DIDN'T USE THE PROMPT.  
> I am so stupid... blame Mr Fitzpatrick. He appeared out of nowhere and forced me to change the entire story. I was so mesmerized by him I forgot the prompt...  
> So I changed it : Today's prompt is NOT number 3 "And that's why we can't have nice things"  
> It's number 13 "That's exactly what I was hoping you were going to say"
> 
> Maybe I should post the list megzseattle made me...  
> Who wants to see the list ?

Mr Morley was a persistent man. Crowley admired the quality in a plant, not so much in a human.

“He’s back, angel. The creepy misogynist”

“Oh, dear. Please tell me he does not carry a placard.”

“He does not carry a placard.”

“Oh, thank goodness ! Really ?”

“Nah, not really. You asked me to tell you that.”

“...This is not funny, Crowley.”

Crowley chose not to answer such a flagrant lie. It was hilarious.

“Want to know something really funny, angel ? First time he came, he said he would _thwart_ me”

Aziraphale gasped in outrage “He _didn’t_ !”

“I know ! Shocked me too.”

“ _I_ am supposed to thwart you ! This is _my_ job !”

“Not anymore, it isn’t. Retired, remember ?”

The angel pouted. “Well… I guess it is a hobby then. Retired humans have hobbies.”

Crowley frowned. “Wait, is it supposed to go both ways ? Do I have to thwart you too ?”

“No, my dear. Your hobby is to nap.”

“Oh, thank Someone for that. You kind of scared me for a second.”

Aziraphale huffed and got to the door. Mr Morley was indeed holding a placard. It reminded him of Sargent Shadwell, only the words were slightly different.

“Leading maidens towards darkness ? Really ?” asked Crowley in a delighted tone.

The angel shook his head. It had been three days, and he had hoped the human would tire after some time. His writing was so messy the passer-by thought he was here to raise money or hand around religious pamphlets, so no one dared to slow down to decipher the words. At least the man was silent. Silent was good. Plus, he was posted right in front of the door, preventing any unsolicited customer to step in. All in all, it wasn’t that bad. Crowley patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on, angel, get in. I’ll make tea.”

Mr Morley gaped.

_Oh, Lord almighty ! Not that !_

But Aziraphale knew even prayers couldn’t save him now. The dreadful human was about to destroy his peaceful life, that much was obvious.

“ _Angel_ … he called you… you two are… you are pretending to look at women to evade suspicions, but you are… you are...”

Crowley tilted his head in interest. “We are ?”

Aziraphale scolded him. “Do not encourage him, Crowley.” He smiled at the man, trying his best to hide his tension.

“Now, my dear sir, why don’t we sit down and discuss like reasonable people ?”

“I will _**not**_ stay silent. This is a den of iniquity ! I will tell everyone what kind of depraved people you two are ! I will...”

“ _Oh, dear Lord_ … please, sir, no need to be so loud, you will alert the neighbourhood !”

“Too late, angel. The florist is crossing the street.”

Aziraphale let out a whimper. “We are doomed ! That’s it, I will have to sell the bookshop !”

“Angel, I’m supposed to be the overdramatic one.”

“Is something the matter, Mr Fell ?” asked Mrs Meshle, who owned the flower shop across the street and was always the first to know anything of import.

“Yes, something is the matter, my dear lady !” exclaimed Mr Morley, pointing at Aziraphale, then Crowley.

“Please do something, Crowley !” squeaked the angel, eyes widened in terror.

“Sorry angel, too late for that. We will have to face it like we always did. Bravely.”

Crowley’s apologizing tone would have been easier to believe if he wasn’t grinning so much. Aziraphale elbowed him sharply while looking at his neighbour with a welcoming smile.

“I’ll remember that, you fiend.” he hissed at the demon through gritted teeth.

“These two men are living together !” exclaimed Mr Morley, a triumphant finger pointing at the two entities.

Mrs Meshle frowned.

“Why, yes, of course they are. That’s mister Fell and his partner, Mr Crowley.”

Mr Morley offered her a commiserating smile.

“ha, but that is what they want you to believe ! They are not living together because of a partnership !”

“This is hilarious,” murmured Crowley. “Better than TV, honest. Can we keep him, please, angel ?”

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“Well if they don’t, they could have fooled me,” laughed Mrs Meshle “and either way this is certainly not my business, nor yours, sir !”

“Hear that, angel ? We could have fooled her.”

“Kill me. Kill me now.” was Aziraphale’s muffled answer.

“Naah. Maybe tomorrow.”

Mr Fitzpatrick, the seventy year old butcher that never wanted to hear about retirement, was here too, now, as was the caretaker of the building next to the flower shop, and the street was becoming louder by the minute.

“We have to do something to make them leave our beloved town before they corrupt our children !” yelled Mr Morley, still convinced that everyone was about to take his side.

“What are you talkin’ about ?” asked Mr Fitzpatrick in wonder. “Mr Fell’s the kindest man !”

Everyone around him murmured in agreement. Mr Fell was the most delightful person, so nice and polite, and always smiling.

“I think what that man is trying to say is that Mr Fell and Mr Crowley are _living_ _together_ , and that it is a _problem_.” provided Mrs Meshle, shooting a venomous glare at Mr Morley.

The crowd (it was a crowd at that point) turned angry scowls towards poor Mr Morley.

Except Mr Fitzpatrick, who blinked owlishly. “Well, yeah. The bookshop is large enough for two. That’s pretty clever to move in between friends, what with these bloody rent nowadays. How’s that a problem ?”

Everyone looked at him half fond, half exasperated.

Crowley had to turn around to cover his mouth.

“I need tea. No, coffee. I need a cup of coffee,” sighed Aziraphale in despair, fretting anxiously with his waistcoat’s buttons. He was experiencing the nastiest feeling of déjà-vu. Crowley could laugh, of course, the scoundrel, but last time _this_ had happened, last time someone had shouted these words at him in front of everyone, things had ended very badly indeed.

“You _know_ , Fitzpatrick,” provided the caretaker in a loud, patient voice. “living _together_.” And he wriggled his eyebrows for good measure.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in embarrassment “Oh, dear Lord...”

Crowley sighed dreamily. “The 4th of February is officially my favourite day of the year. Mark that somewhere, angel.”

“I know they’re living together, Harold. I’m not blind ! That princess of a car’s always parked here. What I want to know is why’s that man shouting in the street about it. I live with someone too.”

“You live with your grand-daughter, Fitzpatrick.”

“I know she’s my grand-daughter, you stupid pillock ! I’m not senile !”

The anger on the pavement had cooled down and was slowly transforming into amusement. Old Mr Fitzpatrick’s temper was famous, and it was always such a treat to hear him yell inanities at someone that most of the block was in the habit of dropping everything to come out and enjoy the show when his familiar voice boomed along the street.

Mr Morley had the feeling he was starting to lose his ground. Raising his voice, he started another bout of a rant.

“We shall not accept to see two men living together as...”

Mr Fitzpatrick’s cane caught him in the shin, and he yelped in pain.

“Leave poor Mr Fell alone, you grumbletonian ! He’s an angel !”

Mr Morley gaped in shock at the small, elderly man who’d dared hit him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“I know yer kind ! I know what you want ! You want to get rid of Mr Fell so you can close the shop ! We won’t let you take knowledge away from our street !”

Even Mrs Meshle was smiling now.

“Get out of here you nincompoop ! We don’t want no stupid men like you here !”

The crowd started to laugh. It was difficult not to, seeing that tall, port man backing away from the tiny, old Mr Fitzpatrick, who was waving his cane threateningly.

Mr Morley was not used to being laughed at. This was not a pleasant feeling. He looked around in puzzlement, blushed, and marched away with as much pride as he could muster.

The crowd chuckled a little more before scattering away. There still was work to be done.

Aziraphale smiled at the frail old man who glared daggers at Mr Morley’s retreating back. He was _saved_. People had laughed, the harsh words were forgotten. It would not end like last time, where all of Soho had risen in anger and outrage to support an ‘abused gay librarian’. He had sold so many books in so little weeks, it was still giving him nightmares.

He just couldn’t refuse to sell something to someone who came to buy it in _support_ , could he ? These feelings should be encouraged.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Fitzpatrick ?”

"That's exactly what I was hoping you were going to say," murmured Crowley with a grin.

“That’s very kind of you to offer, Mr Fell, that certainly is.” answered the elderly man, heading towards the door.

Aziraphale discretely took the old man’s elbow to help him up the two steps to the door, and Mr Fitzpatrick let him, which was telling a lot.

The angel helped his neighbour sit on the chair near the fire, and performed a discreet little miracle to ease his chronic pains, like he did every week.

“Thank you so much for your help, Mr Fitzpatrick.”

Crowley got to the kitchen to retrieve three tea cups and a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. Mr Fitzpatrick’s grand-daughter, a loving and caring girl, was monitoring his alcohol and sugar consumption, and the old man didn’t like to have to lie to her.

It _was_ a cup of tea, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So TOMORROW'S prompt will be number 3 : "And that's why we can't have nice things"  
> I will write it.  
> I will !  
> God... an idea... I have to find an idea...

**Author's Note:**

> I love Mr Fitzpatrick... didn't even think ouf created him, he appeared out of nowhere, but he will absolutely be back !


End file.
